


You Could Do Better

by grahamcrackercrumbs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, typical zarry angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grahamcrackercrumbs/pseuds/grahamcrackercrumbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic based off the song "Marvin's Room" by Drake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Could Do Better

**Author's Note:**

> I've yet to find a Zarry fic based on a Drake song, so I figured I would take matters into my own hands. And it ended up getting a little out of hand.
> 
> Here's a link to song this is based off of: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krCziKyJr6c  
> And here's a link to the song mentioned at the end: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c7NLq5Soq_E
> 
> This is totally unbetaed, so I apologize for any mistakes ahead of time!

               Zayn watches as another drink is poured into his glass, and when it’s topped off he throws it back, taking deep gulps until it’s empty. He’s forgotten what number this is- stopped counting long ago after his friends insisted on doing shots. He knows they’re only trying to help, but it doesn’t. He hears a laugh come from beside him, and it sounds bubbly like the rosé that was just fizzing against his tongue and throat. He looks to his side and sees a woman sitting down next to him, flipping her hair over her shoulder before reaching out her hand for Zayn to shake. He takes her hand and introduces himself. She tells him her name, but as soon as the word slips from her mouth he forgets it. She smiles at him coyly, resting her hand just above his knee.

               She’s beautiful- Zayn can tell that objectively. She has dark hair that reaches her waist and falls over curves Zayn knows would feel soft under his hands. He feels no attraction to her, though, no pull. It’s like when he’s walking outside, and he knows it’s a lovely day, but the sun doesn’t warm his skin the right way. Not anymore. Not since Harry.

               That hasn’t been stopping him though. He still brings a girl, sometimes two, back to his place after one of “his” parties, when he needs to expend some of the energy and stress that’s built up inside of him, which is often. When he’s moving against them it’s so easy to get lost, pretend their soft skin is Harry’s, imagine it’s him Zayn’s inside of. He replaces the high cadence of their voices with the rough grumble of Harry’s, and bites down on their necks so he doesn’t yell the wrong name- the only name he can seem to remember in that moment. When it’s over he turns cold again, and he knows it’s wrong, but he never lets them stay the night in his bed. He stills leaves that space beside him open, so he can reach out and pretend his arm’s around Harry, that his wild hair is still tickling his nose and smelling of apples.

               At that thought Zayn grabs the fullest glass on the table in front of him and tips it back, swallowing it all at once. He gets up from the couch, the girl on his left who’d been leaning on him falling back against the cushions. She scowls at him, and he hates himself for being such a complete asshole. He mutters an apology, but makes his way through the crowd to the toilets, stumbling often. It’s a single stall for the nicer part of the club, and Zayn locks himself in, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

               He presses the first number in his favorites, and as he hears it ring he sends up a prayer that they’ll answer.

               “Hello?”

               Zayn hears Harry’s voice on the other end of the phone and sighs in relief. The only other time Zayn gets to hear his voice is when Harry doesn’t pick up, and he gets his voicemail.

               “Hey, it’s Zayn.”

               “Yah, I know. I’ve got caller ID.” Moments pass, and all Zayn can hear is himself breathing and the hum of the bathroom fan. “What do you want, Zayn? Why are you calling?”

               Zayn swallows, letting his back slide down against the cold tile as he sits on the floor. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

               “Well, now you have. Is that all?” Zayn doesn’t answer. His brain’s mush, and he’s so confused, unable to put his thoughts into words. He’s too drunk right now and doesn’t have the cognitive ability to be doing this, but he can’t help himself. Harry clears his throat on his end of the line. “Right then. I’m hangi-”

               “No!” Zayn shouts hurriedly. “I was just…” Zayn sighs, bowing his head and running his hand over his face. “I know about him. I saw the pictures.” Harry stays silent, and Zayn feels a fire spark inside of him, burning his stomach and chest. “I saw them Harry! I saw them in the fucking paper!”

               “That’s none of your business,” Harry replies, voice decidedly even, but Zayn can hear the break in it.

               “Fuck off, it’s not my business. Christ, it’s been what? Two months, Harry? What’d you do, go over to his place the same night you left mine?”

               Harry takes in a shaky breath. “I’m not gonna sit here and get yelled at by you. So if that’s why you called I-”

               “That’s not why I called,” Zayn breathes out, suddenly exhausted, like he can feel the bags under his eyes weighing him down. He slumps over, resting his head on his knee. “I need you, Harry. I need you here with me.” He hates how pathetic his voice sounds. “Come over to my place. C’mon, Harry. Please.”

               “I’m not doing that, Zayn.”

               “Why? Is he there?” Harry doesn’t respond. Zayn didn’t think he would be, didn’t think Harry would risk picking up the phone. “It’s not the same is it? Admit it, Harry, it’s not the same.” Zayn feels his words start to slur. “We were so good together. He can’t make you feel like I do.”

               “Shut up, Zayn.”

               “Stop lying to yourself, Harry. He can’t touch you like I can. Don’t you remember? I know you remember. Remember how I used to fuck you so well you’d cry? You couldn’t even speak by the end. You used to beg me to-”

               “Stop it!” Zayn flinches, surprised to hear Harry’s voice so loud in his ear. “I’m not doing this.”

               Zayn breathes in deeply, running his hand through his hair to calm himself. “I’m just saying, you could do better.”

               Harry scoffs, malignant. “What? And you think that’s you?”

               Harry’s sharp words hit Zayn square in the chest, and the resolve he’d tried to build up crumbles. “I just need you so bad, Harry. Please. I’m…I’m lost. I don’t know what to do.”

               Harry stays silent for a while, and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I wish you’d call me when you’re not plastered off your ass.”

               Zayn doesn’t know what to say, and a few seconds later he hears the beep signaling Harry’s ended the call. He lets his phone drop to the ground and falls back against the wall, the back of his head hitting the tiles harshly. He sits there in silence, numb, until abruptly it all washes over him, and he feels everything at once. Suddenly he’s crying, and he doesn’t know how he got this low; he just wants Harry there to bring him back up.

 

               His friend Ant helps him out of his cab and walks him up to his house, grabbing Zayn’s keys from his pocket to open the front door. Zayn distractedly thinks that he’s glad he’s not getting papped tonight, the idea of bright camera flashes in his face even more unwelcome than usual. When they get inside Ant drags him up the stair and dumps him on his bed, helping him get into more comfortable clothes. Zayn reaches into his bedside drawer, fumbling through scrap pieces of paper to get his pipe and bag out. He raises it to Ant, asking if he wants to join, but Ant only walks over and knocks it out his hand, shoving everything back into Zayn’s drawer.

               “You’re done for tonight, man. C’mon.” Ant pushes him down and crawls into bed beside him, something they’ve always done, especially when either of them might need checking up on during the night. Zayn shoves him away, pushing with his arms and kicking his feet out.

“Dude, what the fuck?”

               “You can’t sleep here,” Zayn grumbles out, already feeling the promise of sleep pulling his eyes shut.

               “Shut up, we sleep together all the time.”

               “No, you can’t… you can’t sleep _here_.” Ant doesn’t move so Zayn pushes against his chest again, trying to move him off the bed, but Ant’s had nowhere near as much to drink, and he grabs Zayn’s hands easily, pushing them back to Zayn’s chest to hold him steady. Zayn stops squirming and finally looks up to Ant’s face, and all he sees is concern.

               “You need to figure your shit out, dude.” Zayn bows his head, eyes focusing on the threads in the sheets underneath them. “It’s been months. It’s not good to see you like this. I mean, wasted Zayn is fine, but this…this is something else. And you know it.”

               Ant hugs him tightly before moving back and pulling the sheets and blankets over himself. Zayn turns away from him, looking out at the glow of the moon through the slits in his blinds. He knows he should listen, that Ant’s only trying to help him, but he doesn’t want to get his shit together. He wants Harry.

 

               A few days later Zayn has an awards show he has to make an appearance at. When his stylist and hair and makeup get to his house, the girl he’s bringing as his date comes with. Her name is Imani, and she’s lovely. He met her a while ago when he’d gone to see a local show, and she’d been the lead singer of an R&B group. They get along well, and Zayn thought it’d be nice for her to come with him, to have the chance to make connections that will help her in the future.

               She sits down beside him as he’s getting his makeup done, eyes eager and bright. “I’m a bit nervous to be honest, Zayn. I’ve never been to one of these big things before. It’s kind of intimidating.”

               Zayn smiles, remembering the first time he’d been invited to an awards show. He’d nearly pissed himself during the car ride over. “Don’t worry. It’s all jitters now, but once you get there, you’ll be fine.”

               She rolls her eyes at herself and looks back to Zayn, crossing her fingers. All her excitement reminds him so much of how he used to be. It’s not that he doesn’t love his job now- he does. He’s living the life he’s always wanted, and every time he goes out on stage to sing, he still gets an incredible rush. It’s not the same as in the beginning, though, when it was all new and everything astounded him. It can’t be, and he knows it, but it’s riveting nonetheless to see the same thing happening to someone else.

               They spend the next few hours laughing and talking as they both get ready for the show, slipping into their outfits and showing them off to each other. Zayn loves his suit, as per usual. Caroline’s been picking his outfits for so long, she always knows exactly what will make Zayn look his absolute best. She’s also done quite well with Imani’s outfit: a black jumpsuit that cinches at the waist and cuts low in the front. Her afro halos her head, with just a few pieces pinned back, to accentuate her face, and across her chest she’s wearing a large gold necklace that matches her earrings and bracelets. Her heels make her about an inch taller than Zayn, but he doesn’t mind.

               “You look absolutely stunning,” Zayn says, taking her hand to lead her out towards the car.

               She winks at him, fluffing out her hair. “Yeah, you look alright.”

 

Imani does surprisingly well on the red carpet, not hesitant to introduce herself to anyone and everyone. Wherever she goes, she makes people laugh, and as they continue on, Zayn can’t help but be in awe. Even after two years, Zayn’s still not this comfortable approaching and talking to people he’s never met before.

               Near the end, a reporter along side the carpet stops them, shoving a mic in Zayn’s face. “So, Zayn, are you and Harry officially done? How do you feel about him shacking up with your old producer friend, Scott Teller? Will you two still be working together? Is it true that you’re the one who introduced the two of them in the first place?”

               Zayn feels his chest seize, and a mixture of sadness, disgust, and anger wells up inside of him. Imani steps in quickly, taking the attention off of Zayn with a barrage of questions of her own for the reporter. When they walk away, Imani turns back to Zayn.

               “Are you okay?”

               She hardly knows anything of what’s happened between him and Harry other than they’re not together anymore, but she looks genuinely concerned, holding onto his hand.

               “I’m fine. I just need a second. Excuse me.” Zayn begins to walk away, but turns back to her. “You’ll be okay by yourself, yeah?”

               Imani scoffs and waves him off with her hand. Zayn smiles, thanking her, and moves as quickly as possible past everyone. Out of the corner of his eye Zayn sees Harry, and he looks beautiful wearing a sheer black button up with his hair pulled back by a scarf. He’s hanging onto Scott’s arm, giggly and clingy like he always is after a couple drinks. They must’ve started early on the ride over. Zayn pushes against the sour feeling in his stomach and ignores the tightening in his throat, hurrying into the building. He hurries around, trying to find an area in the back where he thinks no one will find him.

               He finds a secluded corner and reaches into his jacket pocket, hands shaky as he takes out his pack of Marlboros and lighter. He lights his cigarette and wraps his lips around the end of it, sucking in a deep breath. He relaxes at the slight burn in his throat, blowing out the smoke slowly, trying to calm himself.

               He’s finishing off his second cigarette when from around the corner, Harry stumbles out, apparently lost. Zayn watches his face turn from confusion, to alarm, to sympathy when he sees Zayn. Zayn assumes he’ll just turn around, go back the same way he came, but to his surprise, Harry walks up to him.

               “Lost?” Zayn asks.

               Harry shrugs his shoulders and looks around. “Mmm…maybe.” He shifts his feet, toes pointing towards each other. Zayn’s always thought that was adorable. “Was trying to find a place to just chill for a while, but it seems like this one’s already taken.”

               Zayn nods, taking another drag. “Yep, so why’d you come over?”

               “You looked sad. And my feet just moved me here.”

               Zayn thought he wanted to see Harry again, but having him here now, not able to touch him or talk like they used to, it just hurts- more than Zayn could’ve imagined. Harry loses his balance momentarily, and Zayn laughs bitterly at him.

               “Now who’s the drunk one?”

               Harry scowls at him. “I’m not drunk. I’ve only had a couple glasses of champagne.”

               To be fair, Harry has been known to trip over air and lose his balance for seemingly no reason. Zayn doesn’t like the idea that Harry was then hanging onto Scott with a clear mind on his own accord. Another pang of jealousy flares in him.

               “Aren’t you supposed to wait until the after party for all that?”

               Harry shrugs, trying to ignore Zayn’s sarcastic tone. “Thought you were going to be here. I didn’t want to… whatever.”

               “Sorry if I put a damper on your evening. Seems like you’re having fun anyway, though. Scott must be showing you a good time.” Zayn gives him a forced smile that quickly falls from his face.

               Harry rolls his eyes, and Zayn can see his temper’s beginning to flare. “Your date seems to be going just fine as well.”

               “Oh please,” Zayn retorts, a condescending smirk on his face. “Jealous that she can actually has a sense of humor and can make me laugh?” Harry visibly recoils, and Zayn mentally punches himself. He doesn’t mean it. Zayn’s always found Harry’s humor to be one of the most endearing things about him, but he always ends up saying the stupidest things when he’s angry, and he doesn’t know why. “I’m sorry, I just… seeing you around him…”

               “You need to leave it alone, Zayn. Scott’s a nice guy-”

               Zayn lets out a loud groan of frustration, at himself or Harry’s he’s not sure. “Yah! I’m sure he’s fucking wonderful!” Zayn takes out another cigarette and lights it hastily. He inhales quickly and tilts his head up, breathing the smoke out toward the ceiling. “Why the fuck are you with him anyway, Harry? I tried to warn you about him before, but you never-”

               “Because he’s nice! Okay? He’s nice!”

 Zayn takes another pull from his cigarette, and Harry’s eyes flicker down to watch the motion. Zayn notices, studying Harry, and exhales through pursed lips, the smoke billowing toward his face. Harry blinks, but doesn’t move back.

               “Is that what you want? I was nice to you, Harry. I always tried to do what you wanted, give you what you wanted. But you just left. You left me, and I don’t know why.” Zayn takes a step toward him, close enough that he can see the different shades of green and grey in Harry’s eyes. “What do I need to do, Harry? Whatever it is I’ll do it.”

               Harry wrings his hands together. “I…uh…I just…I…”

               Zayn raises his voice, desperate. “What do you want, Harry? What do you want?”

               They stand in tense silence, Zayn’s voice echoing in the hallway and their faces so close together Zayn can feel Harry’s light breath and hear the hitch in it. Then Harry grabs Zayn’s face and presses their lips together, knocking their teeth against each other. Zayn gives a surprised grunt, and drops the cigarette between his fingers, hands immediately flying to Harry’s waist and hair, pulling them closer together. When Zayn licks into Harry’s mouth he moans, and Zayn’s knees go weak, tasting the familiar sweet mint in his mouth from the gum he’s always chewing. Zayn cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, scratching at his scalp, and Harry keens, pushing Zayn back until they’re up against the wall. Harry presses Zayn’s body against his, and Zayn can’t stop touching him, running his hands over every part he can manage.

               Into his mouth Harry mumbles, “I want you, Zayn. I want _you_.”

               Zayn’s brain short circuits for a second, and he feels delirious with how incredible it is to hear Harry say that. Zayn frantically looks around the hallway they’re in, eyes landing on a lone door. He rushes them over to it, and when the handle turns he says a little thank you that it’s unlocked. When they stagger inside, Zayn’s sees that it’s a bathroom, and he wishes this didn’t have to happen here, but it’ll have to do. He locks the door behind them and brings his mouth back to Harry’s. Harry hungrily sucks on Zayn’s lips and tongue until Zayn’s mouth is sore and tingles. They stumble until Harry’s back is against the tiles, and Zayn puts out his hand to catch himself, the chilly porcelain a stark contrast to Harry’s hot skin and breath.

               Harry moves his mouth to Zayn’s neck, mouthing wetly, and undoes the buttons on Zayn’s shirt. He traces his hands over his stomach and chest and kneels to the ground, tugging the ends of Zayn’s shirt out of his slacks and undoing his belt and pants. Harry pulls his boxers down quickly, and takes Zayn’s cock in his hand, licking a long line up him and sucking on his tip. Zayn lets out a sharp moan, squeezing his eyes closed and reaching down to make a tight fist in Harry’s hair. Harry eyes flutter closed and he moans roughly around Zayn, sinking his head mouth down onto to Zayn as far as he can go. Zayn opens his eyes to watch Harry bob up and down, and the hungry, wet sounds Harry’s making have his head swimming.

               Zayn brushes his hand over Harry’s cheek, pressing his thumb into it so he can feel himself moving in and out of Harry.

               “Fuck,” Zayn mutters, unable to catch his breath. “Always loved your mouth, Harry.”

               Harry hums appreciatively around him, sucking hard, and Zayn’s entire body is vibrating it feels so good.

               Zayn’s hips stutter forward, and he already feels so close, but he doesn’t want to come like this, so he tugs at Harry’s hair, pulling him off. When Harry moves back, mouth wide as he breathes harshly, a string of saliva hangs still connecting him to Zayn. Zayn wipes at it with his thumb and pulls Harry up, taking in his flushed cheeks and wide eyes. Zayn pushes the scarf off his head and long tendrils of curly hair fall around Harry’s face. Zayn presses their mouths back together, tasting himself on Harry’s tongue. He reaches down and undoes the button on Harry’s jeans, pulling his cock out of his boxers and stroking him roughly, already slick with precome. Harry groans and slumps forward, mouthing and licking at Zayn’s chest and collarbones. Zayn twists his wrist, tugging hard, and Harry hisses through clenched teeth. When Zayn lets go of him, Harry scrambles forward, trying to get closer to him, but Zayn pulls back and nods toward the sink counter in front of them.

                “Bend over.”

               Harry nods hastily and moves towards the sink, bending over with his forearms flat against the counter. Zayn grabs onto Harry’s hips and tugs him back roughly against him, grinding slowly just to feel the friction.

               “He ever eat you out?” Zayn asks, looking down.

               Harry shakes his head, hair bouncing side to side.

               Zayn pushes Harry’s jeans and boxers down roughly and kneels down behind him. He runs his hands over the soft skin of Harry’s ass and hears him take in shaky breath in anticipation.  Zayn grabs him more firmly, separating his cheeks  with his thumbs, so he can lick a long line across his hole. The muscles in Harry’s legs clench, and the heels of his feet raise slightly off the ground. Zayn runs his tongue over him in slow circles, and when he dips the tip of his tongue inside, Harry pushes back against him, twisting his hips. Zayn licks and sucks over him until Harry’s panting, head resting his against his forearm on the counter. Harry whines when he lifts his head up, but it turns into a gasp when Zayn replaces his mouth with his finger, rubbing the pad of his thumb around Harry’s rim and barely pushing inside. Zayn reaches into his jacket pocket for the packet of lube and condom he keeps, throwing the condom on the sink and ripping open the other package.

               He slicks up his fingers, hands shaking as he hears, “Fuck, c’mon, Zayn. Please. Now, now…”

               Zayn slides a finger into him, and Harry groans, low and deep in his throat. The noise floods Zayn’s ears, and it’s all he can focus on, all he can hear: the gravelly humming and breathy moans Harry makes as Zayn curls his fingers inside of him, adding a second one and then a third. Whenever he’s with Harry, no matter what they’re doing, Zayn gets lost in him, like there’s an invisible bubble around them the rest of the world can’t touch.

               Zayn pushes up Harry’s shirt, trying to see as much of him as he can and kisses up Harry’s spine, resting his forehead on the back of Harry’s neck. “I missed you so much… I never stop thinking about you.”

               Harry grinds back against Zayn’s fingers, and takes in a sharp breath. “Please, Zayn, I want you to fuck me… I need you.” The words send a fresh wave of heat through Zayn’s body, and he groans, nipping at the curve of Harry’s neck. He pulls his fingers out, and Harry’s hips stutter, moving in the air to find friction that’s not there. Zayn reaches to the sink, opening the foil packet and hurriedly rolling the condom on. He uses what’s leftover of the lube and rubs it onto himself, lining himself up with Harry and pushes into him with one long, smooth stroke. Zayn holds onto Harry’s hips, keeping him still as he pulls out him slowly and presses back in, grinding his hips against Harry when he’s deep inside of him. Zayn takes a calming breath, closing his eyes and listening to the long moans falling from Harry’s mouth. Zayn can feel the muscles in his legs tighten from the effort of going this slowly, but he knows this is how Harry likes it best, a slow build up that burns inside of him and makes him beg for it.

               So Zayn keeps dragging himself in and out of Harry until he feels him start to shake underneath his hands, and when Zayn looks up one of Harry’s hands is gripping the edge of the sink while the other one claws at the smooth granite counter.

               Harry moans gruffly, huffing out a heavy breath. “God, give it to me, Zayn. Fuckin’ give it to me.”

               Zayn rolls his hips against Harry, gripping his hips tightly to keep himself from thrusting forward. “Gotta ask nicely, babe.”

               “Please, Zayn.” Harry’s voice cracks on his name as he breathes shallowly. “I need more. Please, please…”

               Zayn gives into it then, pulling back and slamming his hips forward. Harry takes in a sharp breath, whimpering high in his throat as Zayn moves inside of him in quick, harsh thrusts, holding onto the Harry’s hips as they press again and again against the counter. Zayn knows that along with his hands will leave marks, and Zayn wants them to, wants Scott to know Harry was never supposed to be with him in the first place.

               Harry keeps chanting out his name, “Zayn, Zayn…” underneath his breath over and over, and it echoes through Zayn’s mind, reminding him of all the other times Harry’s called out his name in that same sweet and rough tone.

               Zayn reaches forward, carding his hand through Harry’s hair and lifts his head up, so he can see both of their reflections in the mirror. When Harry locks eyes with him, he groans, mouth dropping open.

               “Look how pretty, sweetheart. Look how pretty you look taking it from me.” Zayn brings his hand around to Harry’s neck, rubbing over his heated skin with his thumb. “You take it so well.”

               Zayn watches in the mirror, as Harry closes his eyes, sighing loudly, looking absolutely fucked-out and blissful, his flushed cheeks and chest shining with a sheen of sweat.

               Zayn thrusts against Harry hard, twisting his hips, and Harry arches his back even more, mouth forming over a silent moan. “He ever fuck you like this?”

               Harry whimpers and shakes his head.

               “Say it.”

               “No.”

               “He ever make you feel this good?”

               “No,” Harry breathes out. “Only you can.” Harry’s voice shakes with the same rhythm as Zayn’s hips.

               “Say that again.”

               Harry looks back up to the mirror, meeting Zayn’s gaze with heavy eyes. “Only you can. Only you, Zayn.”

               Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head forward, shaking his head to try to clear his mind, but it’s to no avail. Harry reaches back, grabbing at Zayn’s shirt to bring Zayn close to him, so they’re pressed back to chest. Harry tilts his head to the side, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to Zayn’s lips.

               “You’re the best. Only you.”

               Zayn kisses Harry, desperate, licking into his mouth and sighing. He presses quick pecks to Harry’s cheeks and along the shell of his ear.

               “You gonna come like this?”

               Harry nods, swallowing and letting out a heavy breath. “Yeah…keep, keep moving like that.”

               Zayn hums against his skin, mouthing at his neck. He scrapes his teeth along his jaw, tasting the sweat on Harry’s skin, and breathes into his ear, “C’mon. Come for me, kitten.”

               Harry’s head falls forward, and he comes with a sudden gasp, body going rigid as he clenches around Zayn. Zayn moans loudly, white flashing behind his eyes when he comes soon after, Harry’s name falling from his mouth with a sob and bouncing off the tiled walls.

               Zayn lays with his head against Harry’s shoulder and tries to catch his breath, feeling Harry’s warm skin against his chest. Harry brings his hand to Zayn’s, intertwining their fingers, and the gesture makes Zayn feel like his heart’s going to give out. Zayn lifts it to his mouth, kissing Harry’s hand. He raises his head and kisses his neck, jaw, anywhere he can reach. Harry presses their mouths together again, and this time when they kiss it’s lazy, Harry’s plush lips velvety against Zayn’s.

               When they both regain their breath, Zayn reluctantly stands back up, pulling out of Harry slowly, tying and tossing the condom into the trash and tucking himself back into his pants. Harry straightens up with a soft groan, stretching out his back. Zayn smiles at him, moving forward to help him get dressed. He pulls back up his boxers and pants, tucking his shirt back into his jeans and doing his belt up again. Zayn fixes his collar, but when he looks up to Harry’s face, he’s not sharing the same blissful smile as Zayn.

               Zayn reaches up to run his hand over his cheek, but Harry flinches, moving back to dodge his touch. Zayn feels his stomach turn inside out, and his eyebrows furrow in worry. “What’s wrong, Harry? Did I hur-“

               “I have to go back.”

               “What?” Zayn asks, heartbeat quickening in his chest.

               “I have to go back,” Harry repeats, picking his scarf up off the ground. “To Scott.”

               “What? I thought, I thought we...” Zayn stutters, feeling like the ground’s disappeared from underneath him, unsure of how the situation changed so abruptly.

               Harry shakes his head, looking at the ground. “This shouldn’t have happened, Zayn. I’m sorry.”

               Zayn feels a catch in his throat, and his eyes water. “But… you’re the one who kissed _me_ , Harry!”

               “I know! It was a mistake-”

               “It’s not a fucking mistake,” Zayn hisses. “How could you… How could you fucking go back to him?”

               “I told you he’s-”

               “No, fuck him,” Zayn spits out. “How can you just leave? When you know he’s not good enough. He’s not good enough for you, Harry.”

               “And you’re saying you are?”

               Zayn feels like he’s been punched in the chest and all the air’s knocked out of him. “I’m saying I’m trying to be. I’m saying I want you more than he does, more than he ever could. I love you, Harry.”

               Harry’s face scrunches up, and he bites down on his lip, squeezing his eyes together like he’s fighting himself. “I’m so sorry, Zayn. I’m so sorry.”

               Harry clutches his scarf, hands balled up into fists, and without another word, turns away from Zayn, unlocking the door and walking out. The door slams shut behind him, and Zayn jumps back, startled. He looks around him and is suddenly painfully aware his pants are still undone and his shirt’s still open. He stumbles back until he feels the wall behind him and slides down to the floor, in shock. He takes in a deep breath and curses loudly, slamming his fist against the wall. It stings, but he does nothing to dull it. He thinks back to a few nights before, sitting on the cold tile floor of another public bathroom. Harry had rejected him then, too, but it didn’t seem anywhere as real as now, as watching Harry shrink away from him and walk out the door without so much as a glance back.

 

               Zayn spends the next week in a near catatonic state, lying in bed and listening to album after album of Emeli Sandé and John Legend. In attempt to concentrate his mind on anything but Harry he plays the music loudly, so it fills up his entire house. As Zayn lies there huddled up with his blanket and pillows in bed, all he can think is that the worst part is he still wants Harry. Even after feeling his heart sink in his chest when Harry called them a mistake; he’d still take him back. Eagerly. Because no matter what he tells himself or does to try to keep himself from loving Harry, it never works. For months he’s tried and for months he’s failed. From the moment he saw Harry, filing through classic rock vinyls in the record shop around the corner, back when Zayn was still playing small gigs, he’s felt a pull towards him. He doesn’t think it was love, not at first, but there’s always been an attraction between them nonetheless, one Zayn’s helpless in denying.

               He’s humming along to “Everybody Knows”, when he hears a knock on his door over the music playing. He ignores it, too apathetic to get up, and burrows back underneath his covers. He hears the knock again, this time three in quick succession, and he huffs in frustration, throwing back his covers. He stomps sluggishly down the staircase to his front door. When he turns the handle, his stomach drops. He moves to slam the door shut, but Harry sticks his arm out, blocking Zayn.

               “Please, I just want to talk.”

               “I don’t want to talk to you.” It’s a lie, but Zayn says it anyway. He’s not really up for another rejection from Harry right now. Or ever.

               “I know, and I understand, but… I really think we need to.” Zayn stares at him, debating, torn between not wanting to be hurt again and still wanting to do anything needed if there’s a possibility of Harry taking him back. Harry sticks his other hand through the door, holding out a plastic bag full of takeout. “I brought food. I figured you wouldn’t have bothered eating much.”

               Zayn had been ignoring his grumbling stomach all day. When he’s in these types of moods he just doesn’t have an appetite. He hates that Harry knows that.

               Harry smiles sheepishly, and Zayn gives in, opening the door and stepping aside so Harry can walk in. Harry shuffles awkwardly around, as if he’s not sure where he can go and what he can touch anymore. Zayn remembers when he used to make breakfast naked, walking around like he owned the place, when Harry knew that whatever was Zayn’s was his.

               Zayn takes the food from him and sets it on the counter. It smells enticing, but the idea of them sitting in near silence eating is wholely unappealing. He needs to hear what Harry has to say now. He walks over to the couch and Harry follows, sitting across him.

               “Umm, well first off, I just want to apologize for last time. It was a mistake.” Zayn sighs and looks down at the carpet underneath his feet, thinking he shouldn’t have let Harry in, that he’s not strong enough for this conversation right now.

               “Harry… I don’t want to hear about you regretting being with me. If that’s what you came here to talk about then leave because… that just hurts too much.” His chest feels heavy when he looks back to Harry. “Do you know how much that hurt?”

               “That’s what I’m sorry about, Zayn,” Harry replies with a pained expression. “That I hurt you. That wasn’t right. I was being selfish.” Harry leans back against the couch and tilts his head up, trying to find a way to word his thoughts. “It was selfish, and in that moment I wasn’t thinking about after, wasn’t thinking about how I was going to have to leave and go back to…Scott.”

               Zayn’s jaw clenches at his name. “Does he know?” 

               Harry nods. “Yeah, but I mean… we’re not like, official yet or anything. Our relationship is… open. He was still upset about it though… because it was you.” Harry looks at him, trying to get Zayn to sympathize with him. “It wasn’t fair to Scott either, Zayn.”

               Zayn scoffs. No matter how many wide-eyed looks Harry gave him, Zayn’s feelings toward Scott won’t change. What he’s here to hear are Harry’s feelings.

               “Do you love him?” Harry looks at him surprised, mouth forming around stuttered syllables that never come out. Zayn presses forward. “Do you even like him?”

               Again Harry stumbles over his words, frustrated, before blurting out, “I’m trying to!”

               “You’re trying to?” Zayn asks, eyebrow raised.

               “Yes, Zayn! I’m trying to!”

               “You don’t _try_ to like someone, Harry. That’s ridiculous. You never had to try to like me, did you?”

               Harry narrows his eyes at him. “You’re a pompous fucking bastard. You act like you’ve forgotten why we broke up in the first place!”

               Zayn throws his hands up, exasperated. “I don’t know why, Harry! That’s the thing! And don’t say ‘we’, like we agreed upon it. I came home, and you were packing all your stuff up, saying, ‘I’m done, I’m done’. You never gave me a chance! You just left!”

               “How could you fucking not know, Zayn? After months and months of me saying over and over what the problem was.” Harry points a finger at him, furious. “You were gone, Zayn! All the time! All the fucking time! And even when you were home you’d go out, for days at a time, doing God knows what with God knows who.” Harry crosses his arms in front of his chest as his eyes start to water. “How many days do you think we were actually together out of two and a half years? For the first six months it was great, but then…everything happened.” Zayn thinks back, remembering when he got signed. After that everything blew up: his face was on magazines, his songs were on the radio. Suddenly he was being shuffled onto plane after plane, doing promotion after promotion. Even now most of it’s a frazzled blur.

              “Then we got five days every few months, if that. That was supposed to be our time together! But you didn’t fucking care. You didn’t care about me.”

              Zayn stares, stunned. “Of course I cared about you, Harry! I still do, so much. But that’s just my job now… I’m so busy; there’s so many things I have to do.”

              “But even when you were home, Zayn, you weren’t here. Why couldn’t you just spend time with me? Sit down with me and watch movies or go to the park…”

              “I just… I’m still new to all this. To… ‘fame’. I’m having a hard time adjusting. It’s not easy to turn that switch off- the one that’s always telling you to go, go, go. I mean, that’s hardly me at all. I wasn’t like this before. You know that. Not unless I had to be. Now I have to act a certain way with certain people and it’s just… I’m still trying to find a balance between it all. But I promise you I’m trying, I really am.”

              “I know, but… I can’t just wait around until you get yourself sorted out. You can’t ask me to do that ,Zayn. It’s not fair.” Harry’s voice  breaks as he continues. “And you have to realize this is so difficult for me because I know the real you. The one who preorders Marvel’s new releases and dances with me to David Bowie and makes me banana chocolate chip pancakes. I love that Zayn so much. So much that it’s fucking idiotic.” Harry laughs bitterly, holding back tears. “You actually make my brain turn to mush, Zayn. You make me feel like im fourteen and scribbling in my journal about the cute boy in my English class.

              “But I don’t see that Zayn enough anymore. And I got so tired, Zayn. Of waiting up for you and calling only to get your voicemail. And I know it’s your job, but I can’t handle that. I don’t want to be in a relationship like that. It’s makes me sad.”

              Zayn feels a  tear roll down his cheek, and he quickly wipes it away. “I never wanted you to be sad, Harry. I never wanted you to feel that way. Everything is just so crazy, I didn’t realize.”

              “I know. I know you don’t want that. You’re too nice, too good of a person to. But that means you have to let me be with someone who will make me happy.”

              Zayn bites on the inside of his cheek. “Someone like Scott?”

              Harry shrugs his shoulders, looking despondent. “Maybe Scott. Maybe someone else. But as much as it hurts we have to stop what we’re doing now. Because we’ll just tear each other up trying to hold onto something that’s not working.”

              Zayn lets out a heavy breath, replying weakly. “I just wish it was me. The person to make you happy.”

              Harry scoots forward and wraps his arms around Zayn’s shoulders hugging him tight. “Me, too, Zayn. Maybe in the future, when you’re more… settled. I don’t know. I just… My heart won’t let go of you, Zayn. I don’t think it ever will. I’ll always adore you. But I need more. I deserve more.” 

              Zayn looks up and nods his head, cupping Harry’s cheek in his hand. “I know you do. So I… I can stay home, then. I don’t have to tour. I can be a studio artist. I can-”

              “No you can’t. You were made for this, Zayn. You were made to share your voice, your music, on stage. You need to focus on that. This is such an important time in your career; you don’t need someone at home making you feel guilty, dragging you down.”

              “You don’t drag me down, Harry. Don’t say that.”

              “I do now, Zayn. That’s just the situation. You can’t tell me that you don’t see that.”

              Zayn sniffles and nods his head reluctantly. He half-heartedly smiles to himself, laughly weakly. “Who knew you’d be the level headed one?”

              Harry grins back, left dimple indenting his cheek. Zayn really should have known, though. Zayn’s always reluctant to get into things, always dips a toe in first to test the water’s temperature and walks along the edge of the perimeter, scoping everything out. But when he decides to jump, he dives into the deep end, putting his whole self into whatever few things he chooses to dedicate himself to. Harry’s the opposite: always eager and open to anyone, no qualms about being vulnerable and content to be lost in his thoughts half the time. But so in tune with his own and others’ emotions that he became a stabling force for Zayn, someone Zayn could call while he was on the road and his mind was a mess.

             “I’m still gonna miss you, y’know. I can't just shut off my feelings for you like that.”

             “I know, I know,” Harry replies, “and I’m going to miss you too, but… it’s what’s best for both of us. That’s why I came over here to talk. Not to say things that hurt you, but because I want both of us to be happy.”

             Zayn nods slowly, understanding that Harry’s right, and this is the best option for both of them, but his emotions are still winning out, and he doesn’t want to just let Harry go- even though he knows he has to.

             Zayn takes a deep breath. “Do you want to eat some dinner, then? Watch a movie?” Zayn knows he can’t be just friends with Harry, knows he needs all of him or nothing, but he wants just one more night with him, to sit next to him and just know he’s around.

             Harry smiles happily and nods. “Yeah, sure.”

             They both walk back to the kitchen, and Zayn has to remind himself not to hold Harry’s hand.

             When they’re done with dinner, Zayn picks up both plates and brings them to the kitchen, rinsing them off in the sink. When he turns off the faucet, he can hear Harry giggling at the movie, and it feels like the strings of his heart are being pulled apart. He moves back over to the couch and lies down, head in Harry’s lap. Harry runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair, idly brushing his hand across Zayn’s neck as he watches the movie, and Zayn has to bite down on his lip to keep from tearing up.

             “I love you, Harry.”

             Harry glances down at him, smiling, and in the dim room Zayn thinks he sees a hint of the same melancholy he feels in Harry’s eyes when he replies, “Love you, too, Zayn.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed it! 
> 
> I'm always open for criticism, so if you guys have any suggestions or comments don't hesitate!


End file.
